


Rom-Com

by CommaSplice



Series: Kingspyre Apartments [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Green Plaid Shirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 01:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2048883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/pseuds/CommaSplice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime Lannister and Brienne Tarth are under pressure from their respective fathers to marry and settle down. Serendipitously, each happens upon the perfect solution: invent a fake significant other. But neither Tywin Lannister nor Selwyn Tarth is willing to let the matter rest there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rom-Com

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrioritiesSorted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrioritiesSorted/gifts).



> From a prompt for [the GoT-Exchange on Livejournal](http://got-exchange.livejournal.com/): Jaime/Brienne being in a fake/undercover relationship. "please come on this family vacation with me to get my Dad off my back about settling down."
> 
> Although I've decided to place this in a series, this work can be read by itself.

* * *  
_Meet-Cute_  
* * *

“You’ll find someone,” Walda was saying as she made a pot of tea for Brienne and pulled china dessert plates from a cupboard.

“I don’t need anyone.” Brienne still had a hard time understanding how she’d ended up in the sunny yellow kitchen of #12. One minute she’d been in the lobby of the Kingspyre Apartments having just been unceremoniously dumped by the son of a friend of her father’s—without having even gone on one date—and now she was in this cheery room with a wallpaper of daisies and daffodils, and copper pots hanging from the ceiling. Walda had come across her and determinedly dragged her up to the penthouse apartment for literal tea and sympathy.

Brienne had never been up to #12 before. She’d been tempted repeatedly. Its bedroom was situated over half of her apartment and the tenants were particularly noisy when it came to lovemaking. She was brave in almost all things, but when it came to confronting strangers about loud thumping noises that went on for a ridiculously long time and orgasmic screams, she just could not bring herself to do it. 

Instead Brienne brought earplugs and tried not to notice how objects bounced on shelves when the tenants started going at it.

The man in #12 did not inspire friendliness. He had a hard sort of face and disturbing grey eyes. In fact, he looked so much like the sort of man who might appear on a wanted poster on a post office bulletin board that Brienne had a hard time imagining him bringing his wife, or anyone else, to ecstasy.

Upon meeting his wife, Walda, her disbelief pretty much snapped. 

“Then why did you agree to go on a date?” Walda undid a Tupperware container.

Brienne sighed and explained, “My father set it up. He . . . he thinks I need to be with someone to be happy. He means well, but . . . he keeps trying to fix me up with business associates of his or their sons. He even signed me up for three dating website services.”

Walda nodded. 

“A friend of mine said I need a beard. He was joking, but I’m starting to think it’s a good idea.” She couldn’t fathom why she was telling this plump woman in the pink-flowered dress all about her problems except that when Walda had told her in the lobby that she knew what it was like to be rejected, Brienne had looked in her eyes and believed her. 

“Oh, are you gay?” There was no judgment in Walda’s tone, just friendly interest. 

Brienne sighed. “No. He meant just someone . . . If I could just tell him that I had a boyfriend, Dad would lay off.” 

Walda set the teapot on the table and then placed a plate with a pink-frosted cupcake in front of Brienne. 

Brienne stared at the squiggles. 

“I’m taking a cake-decorating class,” Walda explained. “But the icing didn’t come out right. They’re still good to eat, though.”

It was, in fact, quite tasty. 

“I never thought I would meet anyone,” her new friend told her. “Then I met Roose and everything changed.” She carefully poured out tea for both of them. “But maybe in the meantime, your friend’s plan is a good one.” And then Walda smiled, dimples forming at the corners of her rosebud-red mouth. “It’s like something out of a rom-com. Who knows? Maybe you’ll have your own meet-cute.”

* * *

“What you need is a girlfriend.” They were eating Pentoshi takeout in Tyrion’s apartment discussing Father and pretending it didn’t matter what he thought of them.

“Father would agree with you.” Cersei would not. Jaime gave himself a little shake. That mess was all over. What Cersei wanted or didn’t want shouldn’t enter into the equation. “But I’m not ready for that.”

“A fake girlfriend,” Tyrion clarified as he dipped a dumpling in the sauce. 

“Hire a prostitute, you mean?” Jaime leaned back as he considered this. “If Father—”

Tyrion picked up another takeout container. “Jaime, you don’t actually need to present Father with the woman that you’re supposedly dating. Invent someone. Use her as an excuse so you can get him off your back and out of family functions.”

“Just tell him that I’m dating someone?”

“Yes.” 

“It can’t be that easy.”

Tyrion returned to eating noodles. 

“Father is going to want to know all about her.” 

“Do I need to take you through this step by step? Yes, I can see that I do.” His brother set his food down. “You start out very small. You were saying earlier you didn’t want to go to Lancel’s name day party. Tell Aunt Dorna that you have made plans with a girl you’ve met. Just that. She’ll tell Uncle Kevan and he’ll tell Father.”

Jaime considered this. “And when Father starts asking me about this girlfriend?”

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “It’s very new. You think it might be serious, but you want to see where it goes and you’re afraid of overwhelming her by introducing her to the family.”

“Father will just say that she isn’t worth it then.”

“Well, you might want to avoid him for a while. Wait.”

Jaime waited.

“You’ll be going out to Harrenhal to work on the Whent project, right? That’s perfect. You won’t have to be in the same room with him for months.” Tyrion sipped some beer. “When he gets too close, you just tell him you’ve broken up. Then you’ll need to get over her. If you do this right, you can milk it for at least six months.”

* * *  
_Contrived Coincidence_  
* * *

When Renly had concocted this stupid plan, he’d forgotten that Brienne was not very good at deceit. She was a terrible liar. It had not been enough to tell her father she had a boyfriend. He wanted details. She’d put him off for nearly four weeks, but now he was demanding specifics. “Dad—”

“Honey, I just asked what he looked like.”

Walda’s husband was back from a work-related trip and their . . . reunion was so loud that not even Brienne’s industrial-grade earplugs were doing the trick. Consequently she was in the deserted lobby of the apartment building sitting in uncomfortable chairs never designed for actual use. “Dad, it’s—”

“Surely you can tell me a little about this mystery man of yours,” her father boomed. He’d never been a quiet man and he was convinced that she couldn’t hear him on cell phones unless he shouted. 

“I don’t want to jinx it.” Brienne hated lying to her father, but since inventing a boyfriend, she’d been able to open her mail (snail and otherwise) without being deluged with offers from dating services. She didn’t have to endure any more horrific fix-ups. 

Her father wouldn’t let it go.

“Uh, well,” Brienne paused. Her father’s request was not an unreasonable one, but Brienne hadn’t actually thought about what her supposed boyfriend would look like. As she sat there, desperately thinking, the man from #11A walked into the building. He was on his phone, deep in conversation with someone. “He’s about . . . he’s about 6’1” or 6’2,” she said suddenly. 

“Short then?”

Only her father would think that 6’1” was short. “Just an inch or so shorter than I am, Dad.” 

“What else?”

“He’s blond.”

“And?”

“Attractive.” As he moved closer, she could see he was extremely handsome, but no one would believe she could land a man like that, not even her dad. “Green eyes.”

“How old is he?”

Brienne thought during her next call home she would announce that they had broken up. “Older,” she said faintly. #11A removed his mail from the old-fashioned brass box and sorted through it.

The man was frowning at her. His phone was ringing again. He sighed, answered it, and as he was walking by, he managed to drop a letter. 

“Dad, I should go.”

“What does he do? What’s his name?”

Brienne picked up the envelope. #11A wasn’t paying attention. “Hey!”

He didn’t turn around. 

She read the name off the envelope, “Uh, Jaime Lannister?”

He stopped then; came back still deep in conversation on his phone; and took the mail from her, giving her the briefest of nods before returning to the elevator. 

“Dad, I really have to go. I’ll call you on the weekend, okay?” Brienne didn’t wait for him to respond. “I love you.”

* * *

Jaime took the envelope he’d dropped from the odd-looking woman in the lobby, trying to resist the urge to hang up on his father, who was in an absolutely miserable mood. Jaime knew through Tyrion that Joffrey had somehow managed to mess up an internship at Casterly Rock in an epic fashion. Father was still displeased that Cersei had married Oberyn Martell of all people. A deal to acquire a rival northern corporation had fallen through and Myrcella was dating someone everyone but Robert deemed “eminently unsuitable.”

Consequently Father was now focusing on him.

“I told you, it’s very new.”

“You’ve told me nothing. I heard this from your uncle.”

“It doesn’t matter if I told you or Uncle Kevan. The fact remains that I don’t want to—”

His father wasn’t interested in what Jaime wanted. “You have been dating this woman for over a month. Who is she?”

“She’s . . .” Jaime wished he’d worked this ruse out in more detail with Tyrion. What would get his father off his back? He tried to think. “She’s very independent, a hard worker,” he grimaced. There was an implication there his father would not like. “From a good family,” he hastened to add. “I have a hard time keeping up with her.”

The pause on the other end of the phone could mean so many things. 

A physical description might buy him some time. “She’s uh . . .” His eyes lit on the woman in the lobby. She would never pass his father’s standards for beauty, but since it wasn’t like he was ever going to introduce them, it really didn’t matter. “She’s blonde, very tall with great legs, and uh . . . very blue eyes.” He winced. Father was not going to care what this fictitious woman looked like. He pressed the elevator button again in the vain hope of making the car come faster.

The sound of his father’s sharp breathing could be heard on the other end of the line. “From whose good family does this nameless woman belong?”

“You’d like her.” Jaime stepped into the elevator. “Father? Are you there? I can’t hear you.”

“Her name,” Father commanded. “What is her name?”

“You’re breaking up. I can’t—Father? Are you—” He hung up the phone, leaned his head against the wall of the elevator and closed his eyes. This plan was not going very well.

* * *

Tywin Lannister took a glass of the Arbor Shiraz from the tray of a passing waiter, sipped, made a face, and then immediately began looking for another waiter to hand off the offending beverage. He ordinarily eschewed these sorts of charity events, but intervention was required in order to get Joffrey admitted to graduate school, and thus far almost every reputable business program in Westeros had declined the honor—a dubious one, Tywin had to admit—of accepting him. The Grandview School at the University of the Stormlands was the last hope. If they would not be swayed, Tywin’s grandson would be attending a state university. This was unacceptable.

His sources informed him that the individuals who could wield persuasion would be in attendance at this function to fund the Summerhall Opera Company, so here he was. He’d already spoken to one decision-maker and was scanning the crowd for the next when he heard a cough from behind him. “Tywin Lannister?”

Tywin turned. 

“I thought we should meet.” The speaker was easily 6’5” tall, possessed of a florid complexion and broad shoulders. He was perhaps a few years younger, but in as good or better shape as Tywin. “Selwyn Tarth.”

He knew who he was of, course. The Tarths were an old family, but their significance was minor compared with his own. He inclined his head slightly; shook the man’s hand; and murmured a terse greeting. Then he waited for the inevitable pitch. They always wanted something.

“I’m very anxious to meet Jaime.”

Tywin paused in the act of looking for someone more important to talk to. 

“Brienne hasn’t said much, but he sounds like he’s a fine young man.”

Selwyn Tarth now had Tywin’s undivided attention. 

“I understand you haven’t met Brienne either.”

“Brienne is your—”

“—My daughter. Sorry, I should have said. It’s gratifying to know that they aren’t being any more communicative with you than with me. I practically had to drag your son’s name out of her. She keeps saying the relationship is very new and she doesn’t want to jinx it. I told her they’ve been dating for months and that it was time for me to meet him.”

Tywin absorbed this. Jaime had said much the same thing. His “relationship” was new. It was delicate. They needed time. Tywin scoffed at this. Jaime was over forty. He’d had decades of time. “He hasn’t been very forthcoming about your daughter. All I’ve been able to wrest from him was a physical description and the fact that she works very hard.” Even the description had been sparse. She was tall, Jaime kept saying. When pressed he would get quite lyrical about the girl’s “astonishing blue eyes.”

“Shame that he can’t get away from his job to go on vacation with us,” Tarth commented. 

“Oh?” Tywin signaled to a waiter and disposed of his glass. “As a matter of fact, I was trying to get Jaime to bring your daughter to our family home for our holiday and he claimed she had the same problem.”

Tarth frowned. “Brienne works for me. Why in the seven hells didn’t she ask me?”

“I could ask the same thing of my own son.” Tywin checked his watch. “Would you have some time after this? I should very much like to know more about the woman who has my son so fascinated.”

* * *

By the time the shouting died down, neither Walda’s new friend nor the handsome man from the other eleventh floor apartment seemed to know what to do or say. Walda was just glad Roose was out . . . working. She knew he didn’t like either Brienne or the man from #11A and he wouldn’t exactly approve of her getting mixed up in the business of strangers.

“But I don’t know how he got your name. I never met your—”

Walda held up a hand to stop Brienne. She took over. She was happiest when she was managing things and if she completely honest with herself, she was getting rather bored with just keeping house for Roose. There were only so many crafts she could do and classes she could take. This was something she could at least sink her teeth into. She asked questions. She kept them from getting at each other’s throats. And in the space of a few minutes, she figured out what needed to be done. “So it’s all just a misunderstanding,” Walda concluded. 

“Look, Mrs.—”

“Bolton,” Walda supplied. “Just call me Walda.”

“Fine. Walda. The problem is that now my father expects me to show up for a week at his home for a family vacation with—what is your name?”

“For the last time, it’s Brienne.”

Not this again. Walda interceded, “And Brienne’s father expects her to bring you camping on her family vacation. Yes, I think we all understand. What’s the actual problem?”

They just looked at her.

“You both made up a significant other. You both have to go somewhere. Just pretend.” That’s what they would do in a rom-com, but the practicality of the solution pleased her.

“It could work,” Jaime Lannister said reluctantly.

Brienne was dubious. “I guess.”

“Problem solved.”

* * *  
_The Walls of Jericho_  
* * *

For a man who claimed he was a traditionalist, Tywin Lannister was turning out to be annoyingly progressive when it came to his son’s love life.

“You said we’d have separate bedrooms,” Brienne whispered in an agonized voice.

Jaime shut the door. “I thought he’d . . . I’ve never brought anyone home before and I told him this was serious.” He didn’t like the way she was backing away from him. “Your virtue is more than safe from me. You’re hardly my type.” It came out as more of a sneer than he’d intended and he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Brienne flinched in such a way that he knew she’d heard things like this before. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“It’s a king-sized bed,” he pointed out. “I’ll stay on my side and you can stay on yours.” He looked at the suitcase she had opened. “That’s all you brought?” From the looks of the clothes she’d neatly packed, everything she had was extremely casual. His relatives were going to eat her alive. 

“You told me this was an annual family vacation with swimming and—”

“I’m a Lannister.” Jaime stopped. He sounded like Father. 

Brienne crossed her arms. “We’re just going to tell everyone we broke up after this trip. Why does it matter what I wear?”

Because his father and everyone else would never shut up about it, he thought. “Maybe . . . Joffrey’s girlfriend might have—”

“Margaery is half my size,” Brienne pointed out.

“I didn’t realize you knew her.”

“Of course I know her,” Brienne snapped. “She’s Loras Tyrell’s sister and she uh . . . dated Renly for almost six months.”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “I was going to say she might have some ideas of how to handle the situation.” He could kill Tyrion. This stupid scheme that was straight out of a rom-com had been doomed from the start. Here he was stuck with this freakishly tall woman in his bedroom. Outside over two dozen relatives lay in wait, most of whom were going to be extremely invested in learning all about her and their supposed relationship.

* * *

Her clothes turned out to be something of a non-issue. Margaery Tyrell _did_ have some ideas. What they weren’t able to borrow, they bought. Aside from skirts that exposed far more leg than Brienne would have liked, she actually didn’t mind the clothes.

“We’ll play up your height,” Margaery told her. “Most women would kill to have legs like yours. Besides,” she said as they drove down to Lannisport, “it’s not like you’re actually dating him.”

Brienne froze.

“Renly told Loras who told me. Don’t worry. It stopped there.” Margaery quirked her lips into a twisted smile. “I would love to be in your position.”

Brienne found that hard to believe.

“You can do or say whatever you want. You’re not dating Jaime Lannister. After this trip, you’ll never need to see these people again. Just be yourself. It might even be restful.”

She forbore pointing out that she was usually herself, but maybe Margaery had a point. 

After that, she relaxed somewhat. Brienne was actually enjoying parts of the vacation. The beach was gorgeous and there was an Olympic-sized pool. Other than Jaime’s father, no one else seemed to go near it in the early morning hours. He’d scowled the first day upon seeing her already swimming, so she’d readjusted her schedule twice so as not to disturb him. The younger Lannisters were nice enough for the most part. Their initial shyness around her had worn off and soon they always seemed to want her to play volleyball or soccer with them. Jaime started joining in too. And it was . . . fun?

For a near stranger, he wasn’t so bad to talk to. He tended toward sarcasm, but every once in a while, Jaime dropped that persona and would say something real, something honest. The more she hung out with him, the closer they became. Maybe after this was over they could even be friends.

* * *

Jaime had never actually enjoyed a family vacation before. It was odd really, Father wasn’t overly impressed with Brienne. Cersei hated her. Some of his snobbier relatives were doubtful, but it didn’t seem to matter. What little Brienne did notice—which was miniscule, she was remarkably socially naïve—she didn’t seem to mind.

Things were more interesting with her. Perhaps it was because they liked similar activities. She knew how to sail. She swam like a fish. She was a good sport with Tommen, Tyrek, Joy, Janei, Willem, and Martyn. 

Brienne was beyond prickly with him. She withstood extraordinary amounts of social sniping, but he and she were constantly at odds. But there were moments in between where she would simply turn her huge blue eyes on him and he could say . . . anything and she would just listen. 

It felt . . . right.

* * *

For decades, Tywin’s early morning swim in the unheated pool had been sacrosanct.

On the first day, he came down just as the sun was rising only to find Jaime’s girlfriend nearly finishing her swim. After he did his customary laps, he came upon her eating dry toast and half a grapefruit as she worked on her laptop. She didn’t want to fall behind, she said. He set his alarm clock back half an hour for the next morning only to find her down there once again. His irritation was defeated by his admiration. She was disciplined and competitive. 

The Tarth girl’s appearance was unfortunate, her social graces were wanting, and she had worked for Catelyn Stark. All of these things damned her in his eyes, but despite them, Tywin was beginning to think his son had chosen well after all.

The Tarth girl came from an old family. She was educated. His reports indicated she was competent in her profession. She was healthy. She had a surprising knack with the younger Lannisters, who followed her around on the beach and in the water. 

Each morning, when his son finally woke, she spent her time with Jaime. From what he could tell, they mostly talked. After witnessing Oberyn Martell’s gropings of Cersei (Tywin swore his daughter had married the man to get back at him for withdrawing financial support after she’d left Robert), it was refreshing to see how physically undemonstrative Jaime and his girlfriend were. Perhaps she might do after all.

* * *  
_Family Values_  
* * *

“What I am saying,” Jaime’s twin sister said in an all-too-audible voice, “is that we are Lannisters. There is a certain standard and that blonde cow simply does not meet it.”

“She seems very nice,” the aunt by marriage (or was she an aunt by blood? A cousin? A cousin’s wife?) countered meekly.

Brienne had been feeling a strange sort of distance throughout most of the trip. People snubbed her and she shrugged it off with an unaccustomed aplomb. It was nearly impossible to memorize names; the Lannisters looked a lot alike to her. After the first hour, she stopped trying to remember. She simply honestly said, “I’m sorry, and you are?” Intermarriage had produced a few outliers. Most of these, she could remember and the effect was interesting. 

“Smart girl,” someone named Emmon said after Brienne greeted him by name. “No airs. I like that.”

It seemed to throw Jaime’s blood relatives quite a bit. 

“She’s a breath of fresh air,” yet another tall man, this one with greying hair, told Jaime’s father.

“Humph.”

The Lannisters practically swam in expensive liquor. Mornings began with Bloody Marys or mimosas and the drinks never stopped flowing. Even though Brienne tried to contain herself to a few sips, the effect of being buoyed by a never-ending stream of alcohol and the fact that she would never see these people ever again, was somehow freeing. 

“Uncle Kevan likes you,” Jaime whispered. “That’s good. He’s one of the few people Father listens to.”

“Which one is Uncle Kevan?” Brienne glanced down in surprise; one of the omnipresent and silent servants had topped off her chardonnay when she wasn’t paying attention.

“The one talking to Father right now. You do remember which one is Father, don’t you?” Jaime asked anxiously.

Brienne couldn’t resist needling him. “The tall one?”

“We need to find a way to keep her around,” Tyrion pronounced. To Brienne, he explained, “He’s the one with the beard and the expression of utter disgust every time he looks at me.”

“I was joking.” How weird, she thought. She never made jokes. 

Not content with expressing her discontent with Brienne’s lack of social standing just the once, Cersei was making the rounds of Jaime’s relatives.

“I like her,” said the man with dark hair whose shirt was always open down to his navel. And then seeing that Brienne was within earshot, he winked and sauntered over to her. He was a man whose every movement seemed to exude sex. “I apologize for my wife,” he told her in his quite appealing Dornish accent. She knew his name was Oberyn and that he was not a Lannister, but she was unsure of how he fit in. 

Jaime’s back was up for some reason, but Tyrion was watching avidly.

“It’s fine,” she assured him. “Which one is your wife?”

“Cersei,” the man told her, puzzled.

“His name is Oberyn Martell,” Tyrion informed her. In an audible aside, he muttered to Jaime, “She remembers Uncle Emmon, but not Oberyn?”

“I remember his name. I just wasn’t sure—”

“. . .Simply not suitable. The Lannisters . . . standards . . . scandal . . .”

She could ignore the insults. It wasn’t as if they were anything new really and after this trip was over, they would enter the final phase of this charade: the breakup. Then Jaime would return to being the man in #11A. 

Tyrion turned. “There’s Myrcella! I didn’t think she was going to make it this year.”

Brienne looked. A young blonde woman in her late teens was coming over toward Cersei. She was dragging a dark-haired girl about the same age by the hand. It took Brienne a moment and then she realized they were Renly’s nieces.

Jaime didn’t wait for the inevitable question. “Cersei’s daughter. Joffrey and Tommen’s sister. That’s her cousin, Shireen.”

Brienne nodded. 

“That’s odd. I thought Myrcella was bringing the boy she’d been dating—someone that had everyone upset.”

This time Brienne was quicker than the waiter. She covered her wine glass with her hand. 

“I thought so too. No one seems to know anything about—” Whatever Tyrion was about to say she never knew. 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE DATING SHIREEN BARATHEON?”

Every head, golden and otherwise, swiveled to witness Cersei in the middle of a meltdown. Efforts to move the conversation indoors somewhere more private failed utterly. Despite repeated attempts, no one could break between Cersei and her daughter in their contest of wills. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on the situation or advice to offer. 

Apparently Cersei had been under the impression that Myrcella was dating Catelyn Stark’s son, who both she and Tywin felt was entirely unsuitable. Brienne frowned. As far as she knew, Robb was involved with Dacey. She tried to follow the rest of it, but it grew hopelessly confusing. 

“I never told you I was dating Robb!”

“Cersei, love, so she is gay. I myself am—”

“Tell your husband that no one is interested in his deviant behaviors—”

“Being gay is not deviance, Grandfather!”

Jaime seemed paralyzed. He wasn’t entering the fray, but it was clear he was riveted to the scene in front of them. Tyrion certainly seemed to be agog too. She gave them a sympathetic look. They were clearly fond of their niece, and coming out, even these days, could be a big deal. Myrcella might have a tough road ahead of her.

“Sex is a natural thing, Cersei.”

“Oberyn, I swear to the gods that if you do not shut up, I will slit your throat from ear to ear.”

Shireen seemed to think they were getting far afield. “We’re in love. It’s not a big—”

“You’re nineteen! What could you possibly know about love?” Cersei shrieked.

“You were married when you were younger than I am,” Myrcella pointed out.

Tywin Lannister tried once again in vain to move the conversation elsewhere.

“SHE’S YOUR COUSIN!” Cersei screeched.

Brienne watched as Jaime’s niece grew eerily calm. 

Several other interested parties latched onto the two young women being related. 

“So,” Myrcella asked in an even tone of voice, “It’s not that we’re gay, but it’s because we’re cousins?”

Yes, more than one person said at once. That was the problem. 

Myrcella crossed her arms. “Then since Shireen and I aren’t actually related, none of you should have any objection.”

Beside her, Tyrion blanched. “Seven hells,” he intoned with no little desperation. 

Jaime was less religious in his reaction. “Fuck.”

“Of course, you’re related,” Tywin said dismissively. 

“Uh, no we’re not.” 

Tyrion let out a low whistle. “She knows?”

Brienne felt a sharp pain in her hand. She glanced down. Jaime was clenching hers.

“Don’t be silly, sweetling,” Cersei insisted. There was a look of utter panic in her eyes. “Shireen is your cousin.”

“Since you fucked your own brother to conceive Joffrey, Tommen, and me, actually she’s not.”

Brienne swiveled her head to stare at Jaime and then back at Cersei the same way everyone else did. 

It all went to pieces after that.

* * *  
_Low-Impact_  
* * *

Tywin Lannister wasn’t sure where the leak had sprung from. The Seven knew he’d spent a fortune on hush money for the wait staff and the caterers ten minutes after Myrcella had dropped her little bomb, but all it had taken was one greedy servant and it was out. It hadn’t hit the papers yet—and might not do so—but there were already disturbing whispers and a few blind items online. Someone had recorded the encounter on a cell phone. He was taking steps, but it was a trickle that could turn into a deluge.

There was no question of covering this up. It was now a matter of damage control.

Brienne Tarth had been as shocked as any of them at Myrcella’s revelation, but Tywin watched with approval as she and Jaime seemed to spend even more time together. 

With patience, money, and time, she could rise to the standards of a Lannister. And a marriage would go a long way toward minimizing the threat to the Lannister name.

* * *

It didn’t surprise Brienne that Jaime initially didn’t want to talk about it. The incestuous affair was beyond bizarre to her. He probably was too embarrassed to discuss it. She’d stuck out the remaining days of his family vacation because she really didn’t know what else to do. Twice she’d offered to make some excuse to her father and twice Jaime had refused.

“No, I said I’d go. Besides, I’m looking forward to not being around my family for a while.”

That wasn’t quite true, Brienne thought. There were people he did want to speak to—his children (that had to be so weird, she thought)—but they stayed well away from him. “Give it time,” she offered. 

He smiled weakly and started making quips. 

“Why do you do that?” Brienne asked. “Why do you make everything into a joke?”

“If you’d grown up like I did, you’d try to laugh it off too.” But it had been enough to get him to open up. “It’s been over for almost three years,” he said. “We moved on.”

Considering how Cersei had treated her, Brienne questioned that.

“She doesn’t let go easily,” Jaime admitted. “It’s like I’m an old toy she’s put on a shelf, but she’s not ready to let anyone have it.” He shrugged and they continued on their walk. “I’m done with her, though.”

By the end of the week, she thought she understood him a little better. She certainly liked him more.

On the last day, they’d flown back to Harrenhal, swapped out their luggage, and caught the next plane to Tarth.

“It won’t be anything like your family compound,” she warned him. 

And then they reached the campsite.

Brienne stared at the trailer in utter shock.

“I thought you said this was low-impact camping.”

“It always has been in the past,” she whispered back. “Always.” For as long as she could remember, her annual camping trip with her father had involved the two of them, whatever they could fit in backpacks, and the forests of Tarth. They fished and hunted for most of their meals and they left as little of a footprint as they could possibly manage.

Now it looked like they’d be leaving not just a large footprint, but a fairly substantial crater. 

Her father’s booming voice caused them both to jump. 

“Honey!” Brienne was enveloped in her father’s bone-crushing embrace, but he quickly released her to take a look at Jaime.

“Let me see the young man who stole my baby’s heart!” And then he offered his hand to Jaime.

It had been a very long time since Brienne had been a baby and she callously thought “young man” was a generous way of describing Jaime Lannister. 

From the strangled look of pain on Jaime’s face, Brienne hoped Dad hadn’t actually broken his hand. 

“Jaime—may I call you Jaime?”

“Of course, Mr. Tarth.”

Brienne noticed that Dad did not invite Jaime to call him Selwyn. 

“Come and meet Ros.”

As the followed him into the camper (she’d lived in smaller apartments), Jaime mouthed to her “Who is Ros?” Aloud she posed the same question to her father. 

Ros, as it turned out, was a woman maybe two or three years older than Brienne with a wide smile and a lush figure poured into a too-tight pair of jeans and a top that left nothing to the imagination. Ros was extremely pleased to meet both of them. She was especially happy to have a chance to finally get to know Brienne. “Sel talks about you all the time!”

Brienne’s muscles felt like they were glued in place as Ros chattered away.

They’d been shown to their room and left to unpack. Brienne stared at the gear she’d brought and the minimal wardrobe she’d packed.

“You weren’t expecting to meet ‘the love of his life’?”

“My mother was the love of his life,” Brienne hissed. “She’s just girlfriend #14 and she doesn’t know it yet. And no, I wasn’t. He never takes them camping, not ever.”

Jaime wisely switched topics. “And you were criticizing me for how much I’d packed.”

She didn’t have much: a couple of one-piece bathing suits, two pairs of long pants, underwear, extra socks, some t-shirts, some long-sleeved shirts, and her thermals. Everything else was essential gear. 

Jaime rummaged through a pile of his clothes and tossed her a couple of shirts. “Here, these should fit you.” 

She’d been looking forward to this trip all year. First she’d had to come up with a fake boyfriend and now her father had brought his mistress along to boot.

He was pulling out a pair of khaki shorts.

Brienne shook her head at him. “You probably want long trousers. We may be in a trailer, but I know my father. He’ll want to catch his own fish and game. The food will be very simple and we’ll be roughing it as much as possible.”

“How are you two kids doing?” Dad boomed from probably two feet away. Sure enough, when Brienne poked her head out the door, he was right there. “Ros opened up a nice Horn Hill Riesling to go with the figs and mascarpone.”

* * *

Aside from Brienne’s obvious annoyance and discomfort over her father’s girlfriend, Jaime was rather enjoying himself. The wilds of Tarth were quite lovely and fortunately not all that wild. They were in a wooded area with access to some great trails and they were near the beach. For the first time in years, he’d done some rock climbing and found he remembered more than he’d forgot—Uncle Gerion would be proud. He’d have to tell him later. Each day the three of them went fishing, and while Jaime’s luck was abysmal, Brienne and her father caught enough fish to feed everyone. Ros cooked whatever they caught and did the housekeeping without complaint. Whatever else Ros might have been or was and even if the food ran on the healthy side, she was also a fantastic cook.

Then they all either swam or hiked and relaxed. 

When it was dinner time, they broke out the wines, and what wines they were. Jaime noticed that Selwyn restricted himself to a glass and sipped slowly, but that meant there was plenty for the rest of them. Brienne didn’t seem to notice the quality of what she was drinking, but Jaime certainly did. It was true that Selwyn didn’t seemed to like him all that much, but since he and Brienne were just pretending, what did it really matter?

He and Brienne took off on walks quite a bit. She didn’t say much, but she would answer the questions Jaime put to her. It was funny, but despite the difference in their backgrounds and experiences, he felt like he understood her.

Twice now, Brienne and Selwyn had gone hunting. Jaime opted to hang out at the site with Ros, who really was quite interesting to talk to. She was a lot smarter than Brienne gave her credit for being, not that he had been able to convince Brienne.

“She’ll come around,” Ros predicted. “It’s got to be tough for her to get used to the idea of someone being with her father.”

From what Brienne had let slip, Jaime had the impression that Selwyn had given his daughter considerable practice in getting used to this concept.

“Someone permanent,” Ros qualified. 

“Well, you know how it is,” Jaime said vaguely, and then as she continued to fix him with her oddly laser-like brown eyes, he felt forced to go into greater detail. “Older man, younger woman.”

Ros put her coffee mug down on the folding table. “If it’s not a problem for the two of you, why should it be a problem for her father and me?”

Jaime blinked quite a lot.

“You’re what? Forty-four? Forty-five?”

“Forty-one,” he said defensively. And Brienne was about fourteen years younger. “You’re about the same age as Brienne,” he persisted. “I think she finds it jarring.”

Ros laughed. “Oh, sweetie, I’m a lot closer to you in years than I am to Brienne, but thank you.” She fluffed her hair. “It’s not my age. It’s because she thinks I’m a gold digger and because I came on this trip with them. I get it. I loved my father too, well, before he ran out on us, but I’d be pissed if someone had come between me and him on a special outing.” She leaned forward, affording him a considerable view of her creamy breasts, but Jaime thought it was an unintentional gesture. “Selwyn will come around.”

“He doesn’t like me much.”

She looked away. “That’s my fault, I’m afraid.”

He cocked an eyebrow. 

“I told him about the blind items.”

“The what?”

“You know, those things in the gossip columns where they don’t name anyone, but everyone knows who they’re talking about.”

Cersei. Shit. Father would be having kittens about now. He’d been on edge for the remainder of the Lannister Family Vacation from Hell, but when they hadn’t been besieged with reporters, he’d calmed down. It was probably too much to hope for that it would all go away. It was enough of a mess as it was. 

“Not that this was in the papers, actually,” Ros was saying. “I read it online. I’m addicted to those sites. Someone claims they recorded it on their phone although the video has gone missing.”

This explained all those oblique remarks Selwyn had been making about killing things with his bare hands, immediately followed by comments about how his daughter was the most precious person in the world to him. And the grim looks every time Jaime made a joke. 

“None of my business,” Ros said amiably. “Sorry, my bad. Sel does seem to be changing his mind about you, though. He likes how you talk about your brother. He met him at some event.” Ros waved her hand vaguely. “And Sel likes how you don’t let Brienne give up on herself. Just give it some time.”

* * *

The weirdest part of these two weeks had been the nights. At least the bed at Casterly Rock had been huge. The one in the trailer was a double and it meant that Brienne was painfully aware of Jaime lying next to her. The air grew cool once the sun set, but he radiated heat. It was . . . not unpleasant.

Listening to her father having sex, however, was.

“Everywhere I go,” Brienne muttered. “Your sister and Oberyn. Walda and her husband and now my dad and his girlfriend.”

“I bought earplugs for the apartment,” Jaime confessed. “I didn’t think I’d need them out here.”

“You hear them too? Walda and—”

“—Walda and her husband who looks like he’s a mob enforcer? Of course, I hear them. They have a regrettably healthy sex life and apparently no inhibitions.”

“She’s very nice,” Brienne protested. 

Jaime snorted. 

They tried not to listen. 

“Let’s go out to the beach,” Brienne said suddenly. “We could build a fire and wait it out.”

“All right.”

They grabbed blankets, wine, and some glasses, and finally out on the sand in front of a fire, there was blessed peace. 

Brienne poked the fire with a stick. “Why did he have to bring her?” she blurted out.

Jaime swirled the liquid in the wineglass. “Maybe because you brought me? She’s really not that bad, you know. If you gave her a chance . . .”

“There’s no point. He’ll have a new model soon enough.”

“Ros seems happy with him.” Before she could reply, Jaime went on, “How long has he been in ill health?”

She felt the stick fall from her hand.

Jaime looked at her. He quietly mentioned the signs he’d noticed: bottles of pills in the bathroom; the fact that her father limited his alcohol intake; complaints he’d overheard her father making about shortness of breath; the creative but obviously healthy dishes Ros prepared. “Neither Ros nor your father strike me as people who would voluntarily eat quinoa and drink soy milk.”

She brought her knees to her chest. 

“It might explain why he bought a trailer instead of going tent-camping.” He topped off her glass. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Was that why her father was suddenly so concerned with her not being alone? “No.” And then in a less hostile voice, “Can we just sit here?”

“Okay.” 

They sat there until the sun rose.

* * *  
_How I Spent My Summer Vacation_  
* * *

Brienne kept unpacking as Renly took call after call on his phone. She was spending an extra two weeks in the Stormlands.

“Shireen, sweetling, I’ve never marched in the Pride Parade. I’m really not all that political—hang on, I have another call coming in—Selyse—no, look I had nothing to do with it. I just got back from my own vacation. It was a surprise to me too. I have to—all right—yes, talk to Shireen.” He gave Brienne a panicked look. “Shireen, your mother is upset. Didn’t you tell her and your father before you came—all right. Yes, call me when things are calmer.” He hung up and stared at Brienne. “When you called from the airport, you said there was nothing to talk about. I’ve been fielding calls from everyone for days. It sounds like there’s everything to talk about.”

Perhaps there was, but it wasn’t anything Brienne was ready to share.

* * *

Tyrion was being absolutely no help. “It’s just a shirt, Jaime.”

“It’s my favorite shirt,” Jaime insisted as he tore through his closet. “It’s my lucky shirt.”

“You have a lucky shirt?” Tyrion helped himself to some more of the shiraz he’d brought into the bedroom. He held up the bottle. 

Jaime shook his head. 

“And what does this lucky shirt look like?”

“It’s green-plaid flannel.”

“Perhaps you lost it hunting bears?”

Jaime moved over to the dresser. “I told you, it wasn’t that sort of vacation.” And then it hit him. “Brienne must still have it.” He relaxed. “I’ll get it back when she comes home.” She had opted to spend some more time with her father.

Tyrion gave him a thoughtful look. “When are you going to tell Father?”

“Tell him what?” Jaime checked his phone. Lately he and Brienne were texting and emailing quite a bit. 

“About the breakup.”

“Oh.” Jaime shrugged. “There’s no hurry.”

* * *

Brienne knocked on Jaime’s door. “I’m back,” she said when he opened it.

“With Tupperware?” Jaime gestured to the object in her hands and stepped aside to let her in. 

“And your shirt.” She handed a plastic bag to him and held up the container. “From Walda. I thought maybe we could share.”

They sat at the breakfast bar and stared at the cupcakes for a full minute. 

“What in the seven hells are those?” 

“She said the Flayed Man was her husband’s sigil,” Brienne managed. “You know, from when the Houses had them.”

“And she found it necessary to render it on baked goods?”

But the cupcakes were very good and they ate in companionable silence.

“I know we said we’d tell our fathers we’d broken up,” Jaime began.

Brienne raised her eyes to his.

“But—”

* * *

Roose Bolton found his wife on the floor with her ear to a heating vent. “Walda—”

She shushed him.

Life with Walda had taught Roose that sometimes it was better to leave her alone. He shrugged and went into the kitchen where a platter of vanilla cupcakes greeted him. He stared for a very long time at the squiggles of red icing artfully depicting what he thought was meant to be his family’s sigil and then at the pastel-colored candy hearts sprinkled at the bottom of the dish.

He started when she came into the room and hugged him from behind. 

“I just wanted to make sure it was going to work out between them.” Walda made him sit down and presented him with a cupcake. She waited. “The icing is cherry flavored.”

Roose cleared his throat. “The rendering is very accurate.” 

A smile blossomed over her face.

“What was going to work out between who?” he prompted.

“Those nice people who live below us,” she said vaguely. “It’s all settled. They’re going on a real date.”

Roose considered asking her to elaborate, but he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.

Walda smiled happily. “It’s like something out of a rom-com.” 

He bit into the cupcake. 

“Jaime and Brienne,” she said slowly. “It has a nice ring to it.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [ Vana](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vana/pseuds/Vana) who kindly beta read this for me.
> 
>  


End file.
